


Cried Murder

by reading_after_darkness



Category: DCU
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Crime Scenes, Eventual Smut, Joker (DCU) Played by Heath Ledger, Murder, Murder Mystery, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:06:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29605002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reading_after_darkness/pseuds/reading_after_darkness
Summary: A detective is working hard to solve a string of gruesome murders when unexpected evidence casts The Joker as prime suspect. Yet, the detectives intuition tells her all is not what it seems...or is her growing attraction to the Clown Prince clouding her instincts? As she delves deeper into the underworld it’s a fight to resist The Jokers allure, as well as stay alive whilst coming dangerously close to the answers she seeks.





	Cried Murder

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, this is my second attempt at a slow burn chapter story (the first being Clown Wars). Cried Murder will be longer, darker and more violent. I hope you enjoy!

Hazel resembled a vulture as she strained forward, staring down the neck of the latest homicide victim. Squinting her eyes, she inspected the fatal wound, drinking in the gory details and committing them to memory. _Jagged edges of flesh, sawn vertebral column, dark clumps of coagulated blood. The area around the body clean, no pooling of blood on the ground beneath the victim._

The Forensics would determine the type of weapon to cause such catastrophic injury, but at face value this looked just like the other six headless corpses that had been called-in over the last few months. 

_Face_ Value? _What the fuck_.

Hazel stood, her boots grinding on the asphalt as she turned. Her ice blue eyes met the dark stare of her partner and with a nod she gestured to meet him at the perimeter, snapping off her latex gloves as she walked.

 _“Sick fucks_ ,” Jason grumbled as he lifted the tape for Hazel to duck under, then followed close behind. 

“These murders are graphic, that’s for sure” Hazel answered absently.

Her words flowed with an ease that she had earned by time and practice; short, sharp responses, the _hint_ of disgust in her tone – but not enough to be considered emotional. She arranged an appropriately grave expression on her face as she responded to the scene, her mindfully crafted veneer hiding her indifference; desensitized to violence early in her career, Hazel suspected that corpses had _never_ unsettled her as much as they _should_.

She didn’t _like_ violence or _enjoy_ gore, but her body didn’t respond the way others did. Her heart didn’t thunder wildly in her chest; stomach churning and mouth flooded with saliva. It didn’t pale her, send her into shock, or leave her with recurring dreams and night sweats.

Crime scenes were just _work_.

The nightmares she _did_ have had plagued the dark recesses of her mind for as long as she remembered, but she _never_ dreamed about corpses.

“what do you think?” Jason asked.

“These are aggressive crimes. Our killer doesn’t just want the victim’s dead, they want them disfigured, humiliated. Maybe teaching them a lesson or making an example of them?” Hazel furrowed her brows. “It takes more than a fleeting impulse to severe a head, you need the right tools, space and time. It also takes considerable strength.”

Hazel took a final scan over the tape, watching the crimes unit mark and photograph the scene. She acknowledged them with a wave before turning to make her way up the alley, Jason falling into step beside her. As she approached her vehicle she continued with her musing.

“There is no evidence the kills have happened on sight, so we are dealing with someone who has the means and know-how to transport a body without leaving an obvious trail. They are meticulous in their process, no fingerprints, hair or other sources of DNA, other than the victims. We are looking for someone patient, perhaps with some knowledge in medicine, forensics or law.”

Hazel disabled the lock on the driver side door and let herself in. Sitting at the wheel she watched Jason fasten his belt on the passenger side. 

“We find out who this latest victim is and how they link with the previous kills. Once we know what motivates the crime, we will be that much closer to fining our killer.

**

Hazel watched the blinking light on her telephone for a moment before picking up the phone. She listened intently whilst scribbling notes on a pad.

“Hispanic male, 45 years. Name Matias Antonio Alvarado. Got it.” Hazel thanked the caller and hung up.

The coroner had confirmed the identity of the headless corpse.

“Okay.” Hazel mused whilst scrutinizing her notes, “ _Who are you_ Matias?”

Hazel punched the name into the data base on her computer, almost instantaneously Matias Antonio Alvarado’s mug shot appeared. Scanning her eyes quickly over the screen she read his charges.

_One misdemeanor for first time Cannabis possession_

_One felony, Violence against women. For orchestrating street prostitution in the Narrows._ For this crime, Mr Alvarado was a repeat offender.

Hazel exhaled, tapping her fingers. This new information provoked old theories she had temporarily put to rest. Yet still, too many pieces conflicted and nothing felt like it clicked. _Jesus_ , how many more bodies would turn up before she could get some traction on this case? She didn’t dare think.

When the first three murders had been reported, Hazel felt it no coincidence that they were _all_ sex workers, but then, the next two bodies had turned up with clean records, seemingly no identifiable link between them and the first three victims. Now a pimp had been added to the list and Hazel felt in her gut that it was no coincidence.

Hazel was startled out of rumination by a loud rap at the door and the foggy outline of her superior through the opaque glass. Hazel groaned inwardly; Lieutenant James had been out of office a few days and he would be expecting some progress. Hazel would be pleased if she had _anything_ meaningful to report, aside from yet another headless body. 

It had been a long day already, starting with the 6:00 AM call-out and followed by interviews and phone calls up the ass, hysterical family members beggingfor answers she _still_ couldn’t give. Hazel _really_ didn’t need her butt whooped by her boss.

But yet, here it came.

The Lieutenants beady, narrow set eyes drilled into her as he pulled the seat opposite her desk. He took out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at his brow.

So, what can you tell me detective? Sergeant asked in a tone that _invited_ her to _fail_ him.

Hazel flicked through her notes on her desk “The latest victim, Hispanic male…

“No” her boss interrupted, rising from his seat, hands to waist as he turned away. Hazel heard him suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly, attempting to settle his obvious agitation.

“ _No_.” he repeated more steadily. “I am _not_ interested in the meager details from today’s latest shit-show. In fact, I trust I have heard most of it plastered all over the news? What can you tell me, that is _new_ , detective? Have you, in _any_ way, scratched the surface on this case?”

Hazel felt the heat of anger wash through her body just under the surface of the skin, her gut was a broiler room and the heat spread out like flames on spilled oil. Hazel wondered if her boss could see the flicker of contempt in her pale eyes, or maybe the warmth of her rage, radiating through her skin.

 _Prick_!

“ _perhaps,_ you might like to entertain _my_ suggestion now”

“What was that?” Hazel asked, even though she already knew the answer, her voice cool despite the fire raging within.

“Stop searching for the most complicated answer, like it’s going to make you detective of the year. It’s not, Hazel, it’s a _rookie_ error.” Hazel stared at him blankly letting his scorn wash over her. “Start, in the most obvious place, this city is full of super-villains, men and woman who do crimes like this for _sport_. They _lust_ for blood. How many of these _freaks_ have you interviewed?

Hazel didn’t answer. The answer was zero. And it wasn’t the first time he had asked her to do it.

Lieutenant James pointed a finger, shaking it “You know, ever since batman disappeared, this city has gone even further to shit, and that sorry excuse for an institute, Arkham, should be closed - _permanently_!”. His eyes hummed with agitation, “we have the worst-of-the-worst back out on the street because of the breakout. If they had been rotting in a maximum-security prison where they belonged, it never would have happened! And you haven’t suspected any of them, have you?

Hazel wanted to argue, to justify her decisions, but she worried that her carefully sculpted composure would fail her. What did her idiot boss expect? That she should just work through a laundry-list of _known_ killers based on _nothing_? These murders didn’t fit the MO of any of Gotham’s super-villains and if she tried to make it fit, she would be blind to the truth. The truth would present itself to her, eventually. Besides, even if she suspected it, what then? March the super-villain into shop, in cuffs? These guys didn’t hang around once they made their bust-out, lining up for interviews or chilling downtown waiting to be locked back up, they were gone, seeped into the bedrock of Gotham’s underworld without a trace.

Hazel opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a blood curdling scream from outside her office.

Hazel’s eyes widened in surprise, instinctively touching her hand to the gun at her hip as she leapt to her feet. She charged out of her office, her supervisor hot on her heels.

Hazel scanned the common area where cubicles were separated by dividers. Most of the desks were empty and a crowd had gathered near reception. Hazel couldn’t make out the words but several of her colleagues were babbling frantically to one another and Hazel moved quickly in their direction. 

“You’ve _got_ to see this” Jason nearly shouted as he met her, turning on himself to lead her at a light jog.

“Move. _Move!”_ Hazel shouted at the by-standers as she pushed through the crowd to find the receptionist laid out, pale on the floor, being fanned by one of the beat cops. There was a parcel on the desk that had freshly been opened.

With a quick scan of her eyes Hazel assessed the scene; Jill the receptionist must have been opening mail - the box on the desk - when she endured a terrible shock that caused her to faint. Hazel eyed the box on the desk with an uncomfortable certainty; everything she needed to know was inside.

“Stand back” Hazel shouted as she approached the desk.

Was it a bomb? Hazel crept closer.

The crowd fell silent around her as she approached.

Hazels fingertips gripped the rough edges of the cardboard packaging as she peeled the flaps all the way open, revealing a large cooler box inside. Hazel exhaled, steadying her hands before prying open the cooler lid.

 _Fuck_.

Hazel stared.

The head stared back.

Hispanic, around 45 years from what she could tell. Hazel was confident the dead man looking up at her was; _Matias Antonio Alvarado_

The head was laid facing upward, the eyes opaque and cloudy with a sticky, empty stare. The skin had a blue hue but darker, almost black, at the jagged area where the neck had been severed. The blue lips were cracked, slightly open, showing bottom teeth, one of them gold plated.

Without touching, Hazel explored the face. A furrow deepened in her brow, there appeared to be some kind of obstruction in the mouth. It was hard to see through the jaws, only slightly ajar, but there was definitely something white.

“Jason, evidence bag and tweezers.”

Jason asked no question, but instead rushed to get the tools that Hazel asked for.

The crowd fell silent as Hazel aligned the tweezers carefully into the corpse’s mouth and ventured in. The obstruction was lodged deep, wedged into the throat. Hazel was careful as she passed through the lips, it was obvious even at the initial touch that rigor mortis was present. Hazel’s hand remained steady as she felt the tweezers scrape against something papery.

Squeezing the tweezers shut she tested the resistance of the object, worried it might tear if she applied force. With a smooth motion Hazel pulled and was relieved when the object came easily - until it unfolded and lodged again in the mouth cavity. With a final twist, the object flicked out from between the teeth.

Hazel stared at it in disbelief.

_It can’t be_

A murmur swept the crowd as the alarmed bystanders came to recognize what Hazel held in her grip.

Suddenly Hazel regretted acting so rashly. She should have known better; she should have cleared the area. Now The Joker playing card she held in her tweezers was in plain view for all to see, and everyone _knew_ what it meant.

_Fuck_

Hazel looked up and her eyes met the hard disapproving stare of her boss. He had seen it too, clear as day, and if the hot color in his cheeks was anything to go by, the dude was _pissed_.

***

“Hazel wait!” Jason called after her as she stormed out of the building towards her vehicle.

Hazel was pissed-off and hearing Jason call after her just annoyed her more. She spun, her eyes narrow, daring him to waste her time.

Jason slowed his trot to a walk, pulling up beside her.

“Hey, how’d you go in there?”

Hazel rolled her blue eyes and let out a huff. Jason was _alright._ Well-meaning. He wasn’t going anywhere if she didn’t give him _something_.

“Lieutenant James let me have it, yeah. We all knew that was coming.”

“So, what is our next move? Joker is our number one suspect?”

“Let me stop you there, Jason” Hazel snapped, making no attempt to conceal her irritation. The Lieutenant may feel validated by this strange piece of evidence, but it makes no sense. This isn’t The Jokers work. Even the lieutenant has not experienced the Joker first hand, but I _have.”_

**_“Please, my insides hurt. ... the boss said he'd make the voices go away. He said he'd go inside and replace 'em with bright lights... like Christmas!”_ ** ****

Hazel remembered the sound of the man’s crying as he had desperately clawed at his belly. Joker had blown the place to pieces with a phone detonated bomb and walked straight out of his cell, leaving hell in his wake. It had been the first really horrific act of violence she had seen first-hand, and yeah, it haunted her for months. Hazel had made the decision then and there that if she wanted to make it as a detective, she would have to harden up fast. Gotham was not a city for the faint of heart. She had also realized something else that same night; The Joker was a ruthless _genius._ The things he did were objectively terrible, yet, if one removed the moral lens, the elaborate crimes he undertook were nothing short of art. _This_ wasn’t _his_ work.

No, this was not loud enough for The Joker. Sneaking around hiding bodies. It wasn’t his style. What would be the point? Drawing the media, using a live hostage for leverage and killing them for show. Walking into a warehouse full of mobsters and manipulating them in to his games. Joker hit people in the face with all the horror he could summons. He didn’t _lurk_.

“But you’re going to look into the card, right?”

“Of course, I am! Jesus.” Her partner was dragging her into the ground right now. He was still eyeing her suspiciously. Did he require more reassurance? What more could she say?

Hazel groaned. Resenting being told what to do, resenting having to jump hoops. Even to Jason. Even though he was nice guy.

“Shit” Hazel sighed. “I am going to go visit one of my informants, see what I can squeeze out of them, regarding Joker”

Jason looked physically lighter at the news.

“Great!” he almost chirped stepping towards the car.

“No.”

“No, what?” Jason stopped; his brows pinched together quizzically.

This was an annoying situation, Hazel didn’t want company, some of her interviews were not exactly _‘on the record’_

“ _No_ ” she repeated as she moved towards the driver door.

She didn’t like the way Jason tiptoed around her, it was weak and unsatisfactory. However, at times like this it was useful.

Hazel didn’t look back as she turned the ignition and pumped the gas. She could imagine his sorry face where she left him hanging on the pavement. Too bad. She didn’t need a shadow where she was going.

**

Hazel gasped, throwing her head back into the pillow as Miff rolled off her. Damp with sweat and a bare leg kicked out of the blanket she stared at the chipped paint on his ceiling, waiting for her breath to steady.

Beside her Miff rustled around, searching for a smoke. 

Want a smoke? he asked.

Yea, thanks

Cigarette? Or weed?

Hazel threw him an irritated glance.

“Give me a joint and I’ll arrest you for possession”

Miff snickered passing her a cigarette. He sparked his with a lighter and took a deep drag before leaning over to light hers.

Hazel watched his hands. They were one of his most attractive features, covered in intricate tattoos across his knuckles and backs of hands. Lean, lightly freckled arms. He wasn’t a built guy but he was wiry and strong, his muscles flexing as he moved. He stayed lean simply because he never sat still long enough to keep an ounce of fat on him. He had been growing a pony tail for as long as she had known him, blond but with a hint of red. It was a wild mat of hair almost waist length.

He lay down next to her, staring with his sapphire blue eyes. His cigarette balanced between his first and middle finger, he drew gentle circles on Hazels ribs with his pinkie.

Hazel dragged the smoke then rolled over to face him.

“This is a little _more_ than anything I have asked you to do before.”

Miff turned to ash his smoke carelessly of the edge of the bed. As he returned, he winked playfully. “Sounds big. We might need to do what we just did… again.” 

Hazel paused. She was fond of Miff; he was a decent enough dude all things considered and actually what she was about to ask _was_ big. She almost felt uncomfortable asking it. However, she pushed that aside. Miff had been an informant for a long time. He knew what he signed up for.

She couldn’t help thinking about the sex. It was good. She would hate to see anything happen to him.

Miff had been an informant for the department for 7 years. Hazel did not sleep with him in exchange for information. Miff gave the department information because he was on the payroll. Hazel slept with Miff because she wanted to.

“I need you to find someone for me.” She said cautiously

Okay?

“But before you freak out, I just need a hint. Just send me in the right direction and nothing will come back your way.”

Miff pressed himself up on his elbow.

“Who exactly, are we looking for Hazel?”

Hazel chewed at her lip. Miff was her only chance and she didn’t want to scare him off. His knowledge of Gotham underground was unrivaled. He had a knack for finding his way to the right place in the right time.

Hazel looked him in the eye with her ice blue stare. He had come through for her many times before and she believed he would now.

“I need to find The Joker”

**

Hazel felt vulnerable in the dark, yet she felt _worse_ revealing herself beneath the pale orbs of lamp light as she ventured along the empty street. Dressed to blend in, in a dark sports coat, she melded better with the shadows than she did the light. She walked briskly, her hair tucked into a cap and her hands shoved in her pockets.

This part of Gotham, the Narrows, was lost and forgotten to the world beyond it. Here on the southernmost end, the street was pot-holed, the old buildings many of which were abandoned, stood in varying states of disrepair. The Narrows was forsaken ground, claimed now by depraved souls who wished to remain nameless and unchecked as they carried out their shadowy deeds.

Hazel continued on, all too aware that her mission may end in horror; a street mugging or murder? Perhaps she would be sunk in the Atlantic with bricks tied to her feet? Or perhaps something worse? If these imaginings came to fruition, her mission would fail. If her mission _succeeded_ then the opportunity for horror only increased, quite unimaginably.

**_“I can send word of your request, if he agrees to meet you, he will send for you. Go to the address -alone - and wait”_ **

No-one knew _where_ The Joker hid; if they did, they pretended not to.

There were only whispers of the clown, where he had been moving, or where he might be running a job sometime soon. In the darkest hours the desperate turned to him, carrying out unthinkable jobs for a bit of cash, sometimes not surviving long enough to see it in their hands. The savviest of the underground players, men like Miff, kept a watch on The Jokers movements, simply so they could walk the other way and avoid the hellfire he unleashed.

The underworld functioned like fungal growth; the connections were invisible to the naked eye, or to those who didn’t _belong_. However, those who had their roots embedded in it, understood the intricate network and could anticipate where and when trouble would next bloom.

Despite this understanding, The Joker would not be forced into covert operations for fear of loose lips. Gotham was _his_ to roam as he pleased. Motivated by loyalty or terror, sometimes both, the wise remained mute and the authorities were destined to chase his ghost. The everyday folk kept their gaze averted, lying to themselves about monsters and pretending such things didn’t exist. Until the Joker stepped into the light, announcing himself. _Then_ all of Gotham prayed that this creature-of-the-night would not choose _them_.

The downhill was getting steeper as the road led towards the decommissioned southern dock yards. Soon Hazel saw the spot, a junction between two streets, a large sign on the corner indicating the dock number. Someone already waited; the Clown Prince had indeed, sent for her.

_Fuck._

As Hazel approached, the waiting figure raised her head, her weathered face harrowed and lifeless. It was hard to tell her age, she looked around 40, yet a hard life could add years to an appearance. The woman stared at her flatly, before turning away and Hazel fell into step behind her, following several feet behind, guided in part by the clacking of the woman’s boot heels on the uneven road surface. The skinny heels buckled and swayed over the uneven ground but the woman kept her balance effortlessly.

**

Hazel followed the woman down the south bound road where rows of large warehouses lined the shore. Finally, the woman slipped into a passageway between two abandoned warehouses, using the small flame from a lighter to pick footholds in the dark, until they emerged into a courtyard at the opposite end of the corridor. In the centre of the courtyard sat a small pale building, a crumbling church. There appeared to be lights on, just barely visible through the cracks around the windows and doors.

The white stone building was almost iridescent against the night sky, dark in places where moss grew thick. Hazel’s eyes explored the little building curiously, struggling to imagine the history behind it. She eyed the windows, one long and arched in the front and one in the upper story which was round. The windows were glass, but clearly, they were covered from the inside to stop the light from escaping.

The woman grunted impatiently and Hazel followed her up a small flight of stairs towards the wooden doors that marked the entrance to the church.

Reaching the top step, the woman moved aside. Her distant gaze left Hazel with nothing to read, and she paused waiting for further instruction. With a hint of irritation, the woman gestured at the door.

“Are you coming in?” Hazel asked, she’d grown attached to the company. 

For the first time the woman smiled. Her thin lips spread to reveal blackened teeth and for a moment her amusement brought life to her features.

Her voice was dry “Not me, darlen. Only _you_. God’s left this place _too_ long, only the _devil_ here now.”

**

Hazel pressed her body weight against the heavy wooden door and pushed. As it swung open, her senses were overwhelmed by the waxy scent of candle smoke, mixed with wood rot. Hazel stared in bewilderment, at the end of each row of seats, lining the aisle stood Gothic candelabras with their candles ablaze. The front of the room was lit more brightly still by countless rows of burning wicks, set just like they might before a Sunday service. The dancing flames a stark contrast against the otherwise tumbledown interior.

Under the eerie light that cast restless shadows on the walls, Hazel saw him. His purple coated shoulders were broad, his gloved hands held behind his back and feet wide in an effortlessly masculine pose, seemingly gazing at the wall of candles that danced above him.

Hazel blinked in fear and awe at the sight before her, as the door fell shut with a thud.

Cocking his head at the sound he turned, consuming hazel with his gaze. The black pits around his eyes bounced in the flickering light. His crooked red grin widened in greeting and then his voice came, like the rumble of distant thunder;

“righ-t on tiiime”

**Author's Note:**

> If you have made it this far, thank you! Comments and con-crit welcome and appreciated!


End file.
